


Red rows

by anonone



Series: Knowing and unknowing [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Canes, Caning, Crying, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Needs a Hug, M/M, Mental Coercion, Mind Control, Past Torture, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Psychological Torture, Torture, Whump, elias really is a little shit in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24150151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonone/pseuds/anonone
Summary: “Statement ends.” Jon waits for the familiar click of the tape recorder, the sound has become somewhat of a comfort these says, signalling the end to the second hand horror he now had to endure to survive. After minutes that could have been hours the click still hadn’t come. Jon wishes he didn’t know why.
Series: Knowing and unknowing [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738594
Kudos: 52





	Red rows

“Statement ends.” Jon waits for the familiar click of the tape recorder, the sound has become somewhat of a comfort these says, signalling the end to the second hand horror he now had to endure to survive. After minutes that could have been hours the click still hadn’t come. Jon wishes he didn’t know why. The pairs of footsteps that drift through his ears end with a third, tapping sound that floods his mind with a sense of foreboding.  
Elias waltzes into Jon’s office, cane in hand, “good evening Jon.” frustratingly calm and courteous as ever. “I just thought I’d pop in and check on how you’re doing.” He paces slow circles round the desk, tapping the cane in his hands, an unspoken threat hangs heavy in the silence. “I-” Jon takes a moment to clear his throat and then stammers through the rest of the sentence “...I was just finishing up the last statement of the day and-”  
Jon feels Elias’s foot press down onto his back “drop the pretence Jon you know that’s not what I meant.” with a resigned sigh Jon yields to the polished oxfords of his tormentor, finding himself once again face down over a desk, bared for all to see. His eyes trail to the door, purposefully left wide open. Elias feigns surprise, “Ah I see, well, I suppose you’ll just have to ‘know’ if someone’s on their way and we can avoid a potentially embarrassing situation.” Jon’s downcast eyes begin to leak tears.  
Elias inspects his latest work, he’d taken to using belts recently and it was an understatement to say that Jon was not a fan. Elias tuts, not a good sign, “Jon. I am disappointed.” Elias’s has to refrain from laughing at the panicky chorus of “Shit shIT SHIT!” he can hear radiating from Jon’s mind, how badly Jon wants to run and how certainly Elias knows he wont. As Jon’s breathing reaches rapid pace he feels Elias stroke his back in would-be comforting small circles, it makes Jon want to throw up.  
“How many, do you think?” the room crackled with compulsion. He phrases the question carefully, knowing Jon’s brain is currently wholly devoted to pleasing Elias with no room left for thinking of his own needs. The question, open ended, could mean ‘how many do you think I want to give you?’ ‘How many do you think you deserve?’ Amongst a litany of others. “Fifty.” Jon blurted out, God! Why did he say that!? He considered the fact he still couldn’t sit after their last session and clung to the dim hope that perhaps this meant he’d pass out sooner, with the way Jon’s dreams had been recently, the thought brought less comfort than it should have.  
A swish of air. Jon braces, every muscle in his bum flinching in on itself. The cane comes to rest lightly on his buttocks “breathe.” A command Jon obeys. A swish and a sharp swot of the cane steals the last of Jon’s out-breath into a pained cry. He quivers as he sends a shaky 'one' through thought to Elias,  
“good boy.”  
Elias has been training Jon to directly put information into his mind during these sessions, it’s furthered his progression whilst having the added benefit of robbing him of the agency speech would grant him.  
“It wouldn’t be this bad if you’d healed faster, you brought this on yourself you know.” Jon knew. It didn’t stop him despairing as the cane was brought down a second time, angry red stripes blooming over deep purple bruises in it’s wake. Jon’s hands instinctively came up to shield his sore backside, they were greeted with a sharp smack and stinging welts. “Jonathan Sims you know better!” Each word punctuated with a swift swot to the buttocks. Panting, Jon sent a feeble ‘six,’ Elias rewarded him with another bout of thrashing, not letting up with the pace until Jon was screaming, a surround soundscape of mind and voice. Elias stopped and waited for ‘fifteen,’ he hadn’t known an inner voice could sound so deliciously broken. “Now Jon I want you to take the next ten silently. Can you do that for me?” Jon nodded frantically into the desk, better to agree, always better to agree. “Good. keep count” woosh-Thwak!‘one’ Jon stiffled a muffled moan into the crook of his elbow, woosh-Thwak! ‘two,’ tried his best to bite back a whimper, “silence Jon.” A warning flash, crisp paper, salt tears and eight legs crawled at the edges of Jon’s consciousness. He fell into stunned silence, not even daring to breathe.  
Jon internally howled through the next eight thrashes, a metallic taste playing across his tongue from where he bitten through his bottom lip. He uncurled his hands, leaving numb crescent moon cuts in his palms. As Elias neatly lined up the cane for the next round of strokes, Jon trembled with fear and a rage he had no idea where to place.  
The last ten really got Jon, the first few were awful but now the stinging had really built up, Elias quickly carved ten fiery stripes across Jon’s red raw arse cheeks. Jon shook uncontrollably, only the twitching of the abused muscles in his thighs and bottom betraying the agony he was in. “I’ll be checking on you again soon Jon. I advise you heal as soon as possible, for your sake.” That should do it. Confident he’s secured better results for the next experiment, Elias traces a finger over his handy work, he receives a barely repressed shudder in response. He straightens striding briskly for the door, leaving his archivist to tremble and cry and heave, shaky convulsing sobs ripping through his body, finally releasing the tension he’d held to get him through the beating. He sends a silent ‘thank you’ to Elias, who shuts the door on his way out.


End file.
